


You're Just Dessert

by LilKrissMuffet



Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novels)
Genre: Blood Kink, Blood and Violence, Bloodplay, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Dry Humping, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Feeding Kink, Forced Orgasm, Knives, Master/Pet, Master/Slave, Masturbation, Murder Kink, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Praise Kink, Psychological Torture, Role Reversal, Sadism, Self-Harm, Sexual Torture, Stockholm Syndrome, Strip Tease, Torture, Violent Sex, Warning: Strade (Boyfriend to Death)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:16:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28757220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilKrissMuffet/pseuds/LilKrissMuffet
Summary: It's been one whole year since Y/N was violently abducted by the monstrous serial killer who would become the love of her life...so naturally she wants to make sure it will be an anniversary that neither of them will ever forget.
Relationships: Protagonist/Strade (Boyfriend to Death), Strade (BTD/TNR)/Reader, Strade (BTD/TNR)/You
Comments: 18
Kudos: 51





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everyone! It's a brand spanking new year, and I'm BACK to annoy you all with more of my Strade-fuckery antics once again lol. Yup, we still thirst in 2021 ;)
> 
> If you would like, you can follow me on Twitter: @AllYourBitches
> 
> Or tumblr: @lilkrissmuffet
> 
> Say hello, ask me random stuff, or even send me vaguely worded threats! I'd love to hear from you <3

Rare steak, tender and bloody, oozing deep crimson juices all over the white ceramic plate. Loaded home-made mashed potatoes, none of that instant stuff that comes in the packets. His favorite imported German beer, the works. A special dinner for a special occasion called for only the best that Y/N and Ren could scrounge up. After all, it wasn’t every day that her one-year anniversary of being violently abducted by a serial killer rolled around. A serial killer who she would become hopelessly infatuated with less than three months after being promised that they were going to “have so much fun together!” as a cumbersome metal shock collar was clamped securely around her badly bruised neck. Whatever that meant, she didn’t really understand at the time, as disoriented from blood loss and sleep-deprived as she was. But now, as she squinted at the tiny plastic syringe, carefully measuring out the right amount of clear liquid from inside the even smaller glass bottle she had taken from the cabinet in his workshop... she thought she might have had a pretty good idea.

She wasn’t planning on giving Strade a taste of his own poison for a chance to escape from him, or even to seek revenge for all of the horrid things he had done to her. She and Ren exchanged a knowing smirk as she pushed the tip of the syringe into the middle of the steak, injecting the thick cut of meat with a flavorless dose of ketamine. It was high time the two of them had some “fun” of their own. 

After months of assisting him with work, observing his various methods and tools of the trade, Y/N discovered where Strade stored his “date-rape drugs”, for lack of a better term. He had decided to drag her out with him to the pub, perhaps as some kind of learning experience, or maybe just as a reward for being a good girl. She had watched him closely as he prepared a syringe of this same substance, his tongue poking out from the corner of his mouth in total concentration. Against her better judgement, she had cautiously asked him what it was for even though the answer was painfully obvious, given their plans for the evening. He turned to her with one skeptical eyebrow raised but gladly indulged her curiosity nonetheless, amused by her enthusiasm. 

He had spent a few minutes patiently explaining its purpose as well as the most common side effects; dizziness, slurred speech, confusion, etc., all in the same condescending tone one might address a child with that he typically used when teaching her something new. The correct dosage was key since the sedative could be highly lethal in large amounts, and that would just be a _real_ inconvenience, wouldn't it? She nodded politely, paying careful attention and hanging on his every word. Especially the part about the intended victim possibly not being able to remember what had happened to them while they were under the influence of the drug. 

It got her wondering, as he pocketed the syringe and roughly grabbed her by the wrist to lead her back upstairs...what it would be like for them to switch places, even if for only one night. _She_ could be the one in control, the one with the knife in her hand. She could be the one to make _him_ shudder and moan. And _bleed._ Just the thought of him all tied up and helpless, struggling against the ropes binding him to the metal pole in the basement (or maybe the bed, hm?) was enough to cause a warm blush to creep into her cheeks. 

How would he look with genuine panic and fear shining in those weirdly beautiful golden eyes of his? She suddenly needed to know.

“You’re insane, y’know that?”, Ren laughed uneasily, sprinkling bacon bits over the top of the healthy mound of mashed potatoes. 

“Yeah, well...who do you think I got it from?”, Y/N retorted, trying to swallow the heavy lump of anxiety stuck in her throat as Ren shrugged his shoulders. 

Valid point. 

Sure, she had administered enough ketamine to incapacitate a fully grown adult, which in combination with the alcohol should theoretically knock the average person out before they even finished their meal. However, that was not exactly the most accurate way to describe someone like Strade. There was nothing “average” about the man she had witnessed pour gasoline down somebody’s throat before setting them on fire, who regularly told her that she looked cuter when she was screaming and covered in blood, so she was fully aware that this would be quite the risky undertaking. If there was one thing that their master truly despised, it was losing control, being restrained or silenced in any way. He was decidedly unaccustomed to things not leaning in his favor, so this little “experiment” would very likely awaken a demonic fury within him the likes of which neither of them had ever seen. 

But it was the danger that attracted Y/N to her kidnapper most after she really got to know him. After his true self came to the forefront; bloodthirsty, maniacal, and ridiculously hot as all fuck. So naturally, it was the _danger_ of the consequences she could potentially face for turning the tables on him that she simply couldn’t resist. After all, she had comfortably nestled herself so far into Strade’s good graces that she was pretty confident she could walk away from this without him absolutely losing his shit and straight up murdering both her and Ren. He had gotten attached to his long-time captives in the way a normal well-adjusted individual would with a beloved pet, like a cat or dog, so it was probable that he simply cared too much for them to resort to something so drastic. At least, in his own way. 

Perhaps he would act begrudgingly impressed or even somewhat proud of her for having the balls to pull it off. She could only hope anyway, imagining a suitable punishment wouldn't be anything she couldn't handle easily enough. A few consecutive nights of being chained up in the dark basement by her collar, subject to various sharp objects puncturing and slicing into her already heavily scarred-up skin. Deprived of food, water, clothing, and maybe even…

Her thoughts trailed off as she popped the cap off the amber glass bottle and poured the beer into a tall glass, making sure to raise its spout high above the rim to ensure a frothy head of foam on the top. Everything about this dinner had to be _perfect_. He needed to be thoroughly relaxed and satisfied for their plan to truly succeed. Besides, neither of them felt like dealing with an angry-drunk psychopath before that shot of ketamine started to kick in. Ren carried the plate, and she gathered up the glass and an extra bottle before they ventured out into the living room. 

Strade had had a long day with a particularly uncooperative guest, leaving him with several nasty bruises from being kicked repeatedly in the leg. He had only been trying to give them a nice ride on the table saw, as "woundfucker88" had so kindly requested. Never one to disappoint his most generous subscriber, he had persisted, enduring blow after blow while dragging his wildly thrashing, sobbing victim across the room over to the saw bench. Now he rested on the sofa in front of the TV, watching some documentary about metal-forging with one foot up on the coffee table and sinking back into the cushions. His dirty military boots lay in the middle of the floor, staining the cream-colored carpet with god knows what and she could almost hear him now, barking orders at her to get down on her hands and knees to scrub it out by hand...

...if he was still lucid enough to form coherent thoughts, that is.

He was sloppily dressed in only a black wife-beater and some worn out gray sweatpants, his normally greasy waves of brown hair still slightly damp from the shower. Y/N loved the way it looked after he actually bothered to wash it; soft, fluffy and so temptingly touchable just like the rest of his--

_Patience, Y/N, patience,_ she reminded herself. There would be plenty of time to indulge later on if all went according to plan and with any luck, it would. Still, she couldn’t stop herself from staring right at him, her vivid imagination threatening to make her salivate. She steadied the hand holding his glass of beer, catching herself trembling visibly with a heady mix of trepidation and excitement before it could spill. The things she wanted to do to that man would turn those milk-chocolate curls of his as gray as a pile of cremated human remains, if only Strade could read her mind. On that note, he sat forward in his seat, stretching and yawning loudly as he looked them up and down.

“Mmm..now what have we got here? _Sieht lecker aus~…”_

Something about the way he locked eyes with hers, teeth bared in a sinister grin as he curled a finger towards his chest to beckon them closer, gave Y/N the distinct impression that there was no way he could be talking about the food. She nudged Ren forward to place the plate and silverware on the table, noting the unsettling fact that Strade wasn’t looking anywhere else besides her face. It came as quite the surprise since the last time she had seen him eat anything was just before noon when he had wolfed down some cold pasta leftovers right from the tupperware container before heading downstairs for the rest of the day. He had to have been _ravenous._

“I...W-we...made dinner!”, she said brightly, trying to stop her voice from shaking as much as her hands had been earlier as she offered him the beer. “Your favorite!...right?”

Strade tore his attention away from her with a reluctant “Ehh…” and glanced down at the food in front of him, bending down closer to examine it while scratching at his stubble in a scrutinizing manner. “All this.. _._ _für mich?”,_ he inquired, arching an eyebrow suspiciously. He looked at each of them in turn before loudly clearing his throat, demanding an explanation.

“Oh!--Uh…”, Y/N blurted out, clapping her hands together in front of her. “Yes! Of course, Strade! I know you were working hard all day, so....”

He waved a hand dismissively, silencing her. 

_“Ja, ja.._ .what’s the catch? You _want_ something from me, don’t you? Trying to get on my good side…”, Strade accused her, narrowing his eyes. Could he have possibly known what they were up to? She had taken the tiniest bottle from the very back of the cabinet while he was in the shower, so there shouldn’t have been any way for him to discover anything missing or out of place, not in such a short amount of time. He wasn’t exactly a neat freak. The tension in the air became stifling very quickly as he stared her down, his smile curling up nastily in one corner, the way it usually would when he knew he had somebody right where he wanted them. Cornered. 

Since Ren was technically part fox, his keen natural instincts were setting off alarm bells in his mind, warning him that he should probably make himself scarce right about now, and so he subtly back-stepped towards the kitchen, pointed ears alert and twitching nervously.

“I-I’ll just, um... _go clean up!”,_ he squeaked out, voice high-pitched and reedy before turning tail to scurry out of the room, leaving Y/N alone to contend with the only _real_ animal in their household. And a hungry one at that.

_“...Tja?!”_ , Strade barked, scooping up the steak knife next to his plate and stabbing it into the meat, cocking his head at her expectantly. She was only standing on the other side of the coffee table, but it was as if he was daring her to try and move closer without risking getting bitten. Shuffling her feet back and forth on the carpet, she mentally willed him to just shut up and start digging into the damn food.

“No catch, haha! It’s just that...I kinda wanted to do something a little special tonight...it’s been exactly one year today, you know?”

She twirled a lock of hair around one finger, giggling like a blushing schoolgirl. She both hated and loved the mess he could make of her with just one simple glance. Appearing to be confused for a moment, he swirled the beer around in his glass while the gears turned inside his head, gesturing for her to continue speaking.

“Since you kid-- I mean...since _we_ met!” Stumbling over her words, she tried to find the nicest way to say _“since you abducted me to hold captive as your own personal human pet/fucktoy”_ She didn’t want to seem ungrateful, especially since Strade never showed much tolerance for bratty behavior and she had seen people lose teeth, fingers, and even _eyeballs_ for talking back to him. Before long, she had learned when to bite her tongue...unless of course _he_ had already beaten her to the punch, himself.

He tapped his fingernails on the side of the glass, his eyes lighting up with fiery recognition. “Ooh! Has it now?~ I suppose that _is_ ...a reason to, ah...celebrate then, _ja?”_ He held up his beer as if to toast their weird, fucked up mockery of a relationship before taking a large gulp and pulling back with an obnoxious slurp and smacking of his lips. “Ahhh... _erfrischend.”_

Slowly cutting into the meat, he eyed her questioningly while she waited with bated breath for him to take that first crucial bite. “Don’t be a stranger, _dummes Mädchen!”_ He patted the sofa next to him, inviting her to take a seat. 

_“Komm näher…”_

Circling around the table, she obediently settled herself down by his side and folded her hands around her knees. Even though he had washed up not too long ago, she could still catch the distinct scent of blood and raw viscera underneath the cheap three-in-one shampoo/conditioner/shower gel combo he always used. Sidling up to him, she rested her cheek against his muscular shoulder and rested her eyes for a second or two before being startled by the sensation of something moist prodding at her lips.

“Wha--?!”

She reflexively jerked backwards, only for Strade to catch her in the crook of his elbow, pulling her closer and holding his fork back up to her mouth, a bite-sized piece of steak skewered on the end.

“Open uuup!~”, he cooed into her ear and squeezed tightly around her waist but she shook her head, adamantly refusing the poisoned meat.

“Nuh-no, thank you! It’s all yours, Strade!”, she insisted, wincing when he dug into her side painfully, as if trying to finger the space in between each of her individual ribs. 

“Ohh...how kind of you, Y/N, but is it not _our Jahrestag_ together? It’s only fair that I _share_ with _mein haustier,_ so…”, he paused to lick at a particularly sensitive spot behind her ear, earning him an involuntary shiver as she began to melt against him. “...why don’t _you_ take the first bite?” His voice was low, seductive. Strade could be very convincing when he really wanted her to do something and she found herself weighing the risks, coming to the conclusion that a piece cut from the edge couldn’t logically contain a concentrated amount of the sedative absorbed into the meat. 

But at the same time, she would have to be impossibly naive to believe for even an instant that he was offering to share his meal out of the kindness of his heart. While he had the potential to be quite generous if he happened to be in the right mood, he was nothing more than a greedy bastard when it came to eating. Attempting to pick off of his plate usually resulted in a hard slap across the face, or in Ren’s case, a harsh yank on the tail. No, he almost definitely suspected something was awry. His tongue delved deeper into the crevice at the back of her ear as he hummed gently into her hair. “Hmm...c’mon, _schatzi..._ I know how much you love the taste of _meat…”,_ he teased, chuckling at the small, flustered whimper she emitted at his suggestive words. Strade was fully aware of the effect he had on his favorite pet, taking full advantage of her blind devotion to him with relish. Y/N compressed her knees together when the hand on her waist wandered down to her hip and under both the waistband of her sleep shorts and underwear, stretching and releasing the elastic back in place with a loud snap. At this, she reluctantly parted her lips to allow him to feed her. She reasoned that one little bite couldn’t hurt, and he had even been considerate enough to slice off a piece that wouldn’t overwhelm her mouth. 

The tender steak practically melted on her tongue and she kept herself facing forward, feeling him watch her closely as she quickly chewed and swallowed. Her skin grew warmer from his overbearing gaze burning into the side of her face while his fingers continued to toy with the hem of her shorts.

“How do you like it...?”, he asked, his slightly quavering voice breathy as he licked his lips wetly enough for her to hear the saliva collecting in his mouth. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, unsure if he was referring to the flavor or the unexpected sparks of pleasure brought on by his invasive touch meandering further between her thighs. He was becoming more and more excited, as he was very much wont to do. Probably due to his ability to sense her apprehension, which he inhaled off of her skin like a lush fragrance.

Y/N realized she had better start trying harder to coerce Strade into eating, and _fast_ , or else she would end up as the main course instead; viciously chewed up and spit back out again by his savage sexual appetite. “Mmmm~! Wow, this is so _good!”,_ she exclaimed, nodding with exaggerated enthusiasm. Granted, she wasn’t faking it. It _was_ a pretty good cut of meat, prepared by Chef Ren with love, but she could already feel a thin fog of wooziness creeping forth and she began to panic inwardly.

Oh shit, oh _shit_ ...What if she ended up inadvertently drugging herself instead? However, as Strade lifted her effortlessly into his lap the feeling diminished, her head clearing to instead make room for a burgeoning wave of arousal. _Alright, Y/N. Time to focus._ He gave her the utensils to clutch awkwardly in each hand, smirking at her playfully. 

“Your turn, _liebe…”,_ he purred, taking the hand holding the fork coated in juice and Worcestershire sauce, and raising it to her face. Leaning in, he slowly licked it clean, pushing the tip of his tongue between the tines before letting her go. “Ahahaha _...Fütter mich…”_

She didn’t need to understand what he was saying to know what he meant; she would recognize that expression of pure, untamed hunger even in the darkest of rooms. Balancing the dish precariously on her legs, she struggled to slice apart the steak, the bottom of the plate radiating an unpleasant heat through the tops of her bare thighs. She could hear Strade huffing impatiently right next to her ear with every failed attempt or loud screech of metal on ceramic when the fork or knife slipped, nearly stabbing herself in the hand.

_“Ach,_ don’t bother cutting it up. Just give it to me whole.”, he commanded, opening his mouth wide and rolling out his tongue like a welcome mat. She flinched at the sight of his sharp canines as she hesitantly brought the sizable hunk of meat towards his gaping maw, yelping with fear when he abruptly lurched forward to forcefully snap his jaws around it. He maintained unbroken eye contact while he sank his teeth into the steak, shaking and twisting his head to tear away a big, juicy chunk with a soft growl of approval. Y/N proceeded to hand-feed him alternating forkfuls of meat and mashed potatoes, so tempted to lick the blood red juices dripping down his chin and onto his shirt, but soon thought better of it. There were just too many glaring reasons not to. 

Regardless, Strade’s table manners were questionable at best and he made quick, messy work of the entire meal in a handful of rather large bites. She observed him carefully as he devoured his dinner, searching for any minute changes in his composure, but he remained the exact same wild beast of a man that she had come to know and love so well. The ketamine didn’t seem to be working as fast as she had originally hoped it would, but after she poured him his second beer she began to notice that his speech was becoming slightly slurred, eyelids beginning to droop more so with weariness than lust. 

_“Lieb...ling…~”,_ he drawled out, smacking his freshly emptied glass down on the coffee table so close to the edge that she leaned forward to slide it further back so it wouldn’t get accidentally knocked to the floor. “ _Du bist so...hübsch…”_

His German was even less decipherable due to the way the words were blending together, and he pawed clumsily at the front of her t-shirt, groping at her breasts and panting with his tongue hanging loosely out of his mouth. 

_“W-willst…!”,_ he rasped against her neck, managing to sound both urgent as well as incredibly lazy, like an intoxicated man attempting to engage himself in an argument.

_“Shhh.._.It’s OK…”, she soothed him, trying to help him relax further by massaging the back of his neck and shoulders which caused him to moan lowly and arch his back into her hands. 

“Ahh...hahh... _willst...dich fres-fressen_ …”

His voice dropped down to a mere rumbling growl from deep within his chest and he wrapped both of his strong arms around her, pulling her backwards on top of him as he collapsed sideways against the cushioned armrest of the sofa. He wove his fingers into her hair at the nape of her neck, scraping his nails across her scalp and forcing their foreheads to touch. He was already flushed and sweating, nipping at her lower lip and shoving his other hand up her shirt. After dipping his head to drag a slimy stripe up the front of her throat and over her chin, he slipped his tongue between her slightly parted lips. She sighed into his drunken, fumbling kiss, unsurprised to find that he was already hard underneath her. Practically able to make out the outline of his thick cock through those worn-in cotton sweatpants, she grinded experimentally against him while he groaned against her open mouth.

“Hah-ahhh... _deinem...deinem mund,_ _Schätzchen_ …”

He grabbed at one of her breasts, kneading it restlessly while his erection throbbed against the front of her shorts. Using the last of his dwindling strength to lift up his head and crush her lips back down onto his once more, he brushed across her nipple with the calloused pad of his thumb and she mewled his name helplessly when he withdrew from her mouth with a gasping breath. His motor functions were slowing to a crawl now, the effects of the sedative finally beginning to take hold with every passing moment and every thrust of his hips against her pelvis gradually became weaker and weaker. Y/N eased him into this drug-induced stupor with soft kisses along his scruffy jaw, pillowing the back of his head in her palm as she gently lowered him back down onto the sofa.

“...so... _süß…uuhhh...”,_ he mumbled, a sticky thread of drool beginning to leak from the side of his mouth as it fell slack and his arms dropped limply down by his sides. His eyelids fluttered closed as he gargled on his own spit, and she smiled adoringly down at him, planting a final kiss on his clammy forehead between the coils of hair that had spilled onto his face during their sloppy makeout session. He seemed so cute and innocent like that, just a tired little kid nodding off in the backseat during a long car ride.

“Hehe...sweet dreams, Strade…”, she whispered, wiping away the spittle bubbling from the corner of his mouth with the bottom of her t-shirt. “Don’t you worry, big boy...your _liebling_ will take _good_ care of you…~”

As she slid off of his unconscious body, she bit her lip as she purposefully dragged herself along his intimidating length, fighting the urge to relieve him of his clothes for a little impromptu fun right there on the couch. She shook away the tantalizing mental image of herself riding him while he lay unresponsive and defenseless beneath her, aware that there was probably precious little time remaining in which to haul his dead weight down to the basement before he started to come around. Besides, it would be extremely awkward to have to explain to Ren what the hell she was doing if he happened to come back into the living room to check up on her progress. 

_"...Oh, heyyy! I totally was NOT just fucking our captor’s brains out while he was high off his ass on benzos! Whatever gave you THAT idea? Pfft, how ridiculous…"_

Casting one last longing look at him while she fixed her mussed hair and clothes, Y/N blew him a little kiss and whirled around to skip down the hall to the kitchen, light on her feet as well as in her head. Apparently, Strade wasn’t the _only_ one flying high that night.

“Heyyy guess what?~...It worked!”, Y/N called out to Ren from the entryway to the kitchen, bouncing on her heels and breathing faster than normal from the adrenaline rush. He turned away from the sink, soapy sponge in one hand, and palmed a tuft of orange hair out of his eyes with the other. “For real?!”, he exclaimed, eyebrows shooting up in surprise as he wiped his sudsy hands on the front of the apron he often wore whenever he was cooking or baking.

“So then he...he’s all…”, Ren stammered, seeming to search for the right words as his eyes darted around the room before settling back on hers, waiting for her to state the obvious instead. She was, of course, more than happy to oblige.

“Yup! Strade’s in LaLa Land right now, but we gotta hurry. I’m not sure how long the recommended dose will keep him out for. Didn’t really say on the label...”

She motioned for him to walk back with her to the living room, explaining over her shoulder what she thought was the next logical step while he hesitantly followed close behind, ears drooping slightly against his head.

“OK, so we need to get him downstairs somehow before he wakes up. But first, we should get something to restrain his arms and legs...right?” Looking to him for confirmation, Ren nodded, joining her side by the sofa and clutching his long, furry fox tail against his chest. This was a tell-tale sign that he was feeling anxious, and she honestly couldn’t blame him. She too was unable to shake the nagging sense of apprehension she felt from seeing Strade like this. It was as if he could sit straight up at any moment like a fucking vampire from its coffin, to grab them both by the neck and slam their skulls against the hard edge of the coffee table. Barring that fairly plausible scenario, he _did_ look about as threatening as a basket of puppies.

“Yeah, imagine if he woke up while we were _carrying_ him? Man, he’d go ballistic!”, he agreed, uttering a decidedly humorless giggle that prompted Y/N to shoot him an annoyed scowl.

“Don’t even start…”, she warned him, pressing the pad of one finger to his lips before pointing towards the half-open door under the stairs. “I’m gonna need you to go down and grab a few things.”

She counted off the necessary items on one hand, quickly taking charge of the situation. Her extensive experience working with Strade’s captives had prepared her fairly well for this day, but she was still uncertain about plenty of aspects of the job. Such as how to deal with one of them escaping, for instance. 

“Number one: rope. That heavy-duty kind he’s got hanging up underneath the cabinets. Two: A set of those metal shackles and the chains that come attached. I _think_ they’re in one of the drawers…? But I could be wrong. He, uh...doesn’t like me messing around in them too much, so I never had the chance to really look. He’d _definitely_ notice if I did. And lastly…”

As if she was afraid that Strade would somehow be able to eavesdrop, she leaned over to lift up one of Ren's ears and pitched her voice to a low whisper. “Get yourself a weapon while you're at it. Something you can carry easily and whip out at a moment’s notice, if need be.”

Ren mentally steeled himself, running everything she was telling him over in his head and memorizing it like a shopping list. “Do you...want one too?”, he asked her as he started to head for the door. Shaking her head, she proudly revealed Strade’s prized hunting knife from the back pocket of her shorts. The blue light from the TV screen reflected in the shiny steel blade as she turned the edge this way and that, showing it off. When Ren gave her an inquisitive look she proceeded to explain that when he had come up from the shop earlier that evening drenched in gore and sweat, Strade had left his filthy clothes in a crumpled heap on the floor by the bed before he jumped in the shower. Of course, he also hadn’t even bothered to empty out his pockets, and that included the hip holster he wore on his belt that contained his favorite weapon of choice. 

And now, Y/N was holding it in her hand, the same weapon that had drawn dripping, red lines all over her supple flesh countless times. The sensation of her fingers resting comfortably in the grooves molded into the hilt gave her an unmistakable power-trip as she loomed over the man who had used this knife to carve his name into her skin, forever marking her as his own personal property. Maybe she should give him something to remember _her_ by, as well...so he would never forget this special time they were about to share together…

Within a few minutes, she was shaken from her reverie when Ren returned with both arms full of equipment, dropping everything in a pile on the seat of the armchair in the corner. They wasted no time setting to work, starting with binding Strade’s wrists together in front of his chest, as well as his ankles with the rope, employing their admittedly limited knowledge of knot-tying and hoping for the best. They were by no means experts on the subject, so that was where the chains came into play. After carefully clasping a sturdy iron shackle around his neck, they made use of the heavy length of chain-link attached to the small O-ring on the front to coil around his forearms and wrists in order to help reinforce the work they had already done with the rope. They did _not_ want to risk him being able to move his arms whatsoever, knowing full well that those well-muscled biceps were powerful enough to pick either one of them up off the ground and whip them clean across the room like a rag doll.

Pausing to admire their handiwork, they briefly pondered over what to do next. Y/N fidgeted with the knife, amused that Strade was starting to resemble a hibernating grizzly bear in a dog collar. It was becoming increasingly difficult for her to remain focused the longer her gaze lingered on his slumbering form and the desire to slice his clothes from his body like gift-wrapping paper threatened to overwhelm her better sensibilities. It was almost as if she only had a miniature devil perched on one shoulder without the complementary angel on the other side to chide her for entertaining sinful fantasies and keep her firmly on task.

“...Ugh, come _on..._ What are you waiting for? Grab his feet!”, she ordered, bending down to curl her arms around Strade's burly upper body. They proceeded to half-carry, half-drag him over to the door, panting and straining from the exertion of trying to transport all that weight from the couch to the top of the stairway. _Big boy, indeed,_ Y/N thought to herself bitterly. Strade was by no means a small man despite his fairly average stature, probably weighing in at around one seventy if she had to venture an educated guess, with a healthy percentage of that comprised of ropes of pure muscle buried underneath a moderate layer of fat, particularly around his stomach area. As soon as she caught her breath, she tilted her head, gesturing towards the open stairwell. 

“You go down first...but please be careful! Only one step at a time.”

Ren twisted around so that his arms were positioned behind his back, holding on to Strade’s ankles as he began to descend into the shadows. Once he had made it far enough for Y/N to reach the first step, she carefully lowered herself down to a sitting position in order to shuffle down the stairs with his head and shoulders resting in her lap. Even though they were technically sharing the load she considered that this method, though much slower, would be a safer bet since his torso was so cumbersome and heavy that she feared accidentally dropping him on his head...and that would _really_ piss him off, for sure.

After a painstaking ten minutes or so of taking step by excruciatingly slow step, they finally set foot on the cement at the bottom of the stairway with their important cargo in tow. Propping his back up against the pole situated in the center of the basement, Y/N held Strade’s limp figure upright while Ren went to retrieve yet another chain with which to fasten his bound arms above his head and around the pole which would theoretically help provide extra support. Then they looped another length of rope through the back of the collar around his neck and knotted that tightly around the pole as well, forcing his head back against the metal surface. In addition to preventing him from flopping over while he was still unconscious, this arrangement would also hopefully impede him from lunging at anyone that dared to get within biting distance, the way he did when Y/N was feeding him supper earlier. She counted herself lucky that she hadn't lost a finger to those voracious teeth of his.

She crouched down and cut the ropes around his ankles to separate his feet, not entirely confident in her ability to undo the elaborate knot in a timely manner. Using a second, smaller pair of shackles to restrain each leg, she took the attached chain-link leashes and secured them around the large pipe that ran along the walls on either side of the pole, allowing only enough slack to keep his heels touching the floor while also spreading them fairly wide apart. Enough for him to be pretty uncomfortable after a while, at least. However, as they were putting the finishing touches on their heavily improvised bondage set-up, Strade began to stir, groaning softly through the pool of drool that was still leaking from his slack-jawed mouth.

“Uugghh... _Scheiße,_ what the hell was in that _Weißbier_ _..?”_

Strade would almost certainly remember these events when all was said and done, that much was clear. His speech may have still been muddled and groggy but he was swiftly gaining cognizance much faster than she thought possible, given the medical-grade sedation capabilities of ketamine. His eyes gradually grew wider and more alert as it dawned on him that he had been rendered almost completely immobile. 

Ren immediately retreated to the stairwell, cowering behind the wall and freaking the fuck out while Y/N stood her ground a mere few inches away from Strade’s twitching toes, gazing down at him lovingly. He craned his chin up as much as the collar would allow, meeting her eyes with a sudden unwavering intensity that almost made her want to take a step back before his lids fell safely back to half-mast. _Almost._

“Y/N? What kind of dream is this…? You...look so...real, _mein schatz.”_

Stifling a giggle behind her hand at how adorably confused he sounded, she was reminded of a distant childhood memory involving her younger brother returning home from the dentist, rambling deliriously and stumbling around from the laughing gas he was administered before having his first cavity filled. She had never seen Strade this... _unguarded_ before. So vulnerable. Just the image of her beloved king sitting there on the cold cement floor, shorn of his mighty crown of intimidation and control tactics, was making her feel some type of way. She even swore she could already detect the beginnings of fear and uncertainty in his eyes, despite the accompanying lopsided smile leftover from his involuntary naptime.

“Aw...this is no dream, sleepy-head!”, she gently assured him, kneeling down by his side and lazily fiddling with his floofy cloud of brown hair. She carefully leaned over in front of him to better read his reaction to addressing him by such a sickeningly cute pet name, booping him on the nose for emphasis.

His face only registered puzzlement, blinking at her stupidly a couple of times. He really had no clue what he was in for, as seemingly paralyzed with shock as he was, and not just on account of the tightly wound chains digging into his extremities hard enough to imprint the rounded shapes of every individual iron-clad link. She stayed quiet for a moment, chewing her bottom lip with anticipation as she watched the truth visibly start to sink in. He opened his mouth a little, clearly intending to say something, _anything_ to fill the unnerving silence, but the only sound that ended up coming out was a barely audible growl. Y/N ran her hand up and down his suspended arms, reveling in this rare opportunity to touch him as freely as she wished without having to worry about her delicate fingers being crushed in his punishing grip as her arm was wrenched behind her back at an unnatural angle. 

“Happy anniversary, Strade! How do you like your _gift?”_ , she taunted him, returning her attention to combing her fingers through his locks and occasionally tugging harshly at the tangles. This only served to turn up the volume on his irritated, wordless grumbling as he tried in vain to repeatedly yank his head out from under her prying hand, inadvertently choking himself with the solid iron implement circling his throat. Now so giddy that she was practically dizzy with the novelty of the situation, Y/N found herself tempted to try and rile him up further, really stir that pot to its boiling point. After all, she had always thought he was even sexier the more furious he became.

“Hehe...that’s right, baby...You _should_ be speechless! Besides, I want you to save your voice for later~”

A fog of slowly building anger began to contort his handsome features, becoming flushed and feverish for a reason she was unaccustomed to expecting from him. 

_“Was sind--?!”,_ he demanded loudly, flashing his teeth in a rage-filled sneer even as he was unable to turn his head all the way to the side to face his apparent usurper. 

“A gift, _ja?_ Is _that_ what you call this…? _Answer_ me, _verdammt noch mal!!!_...”

She merely smiled at him, sighing dreamily with her other hand placed over her heart. Lovesick. 

“Oh-ho- _ho_ ...just you _wait_ ...I'll gladly give you a little "gift" of your own as soon as I--... _rrrggh_ ... _Du-- du kleine…gghhrrGHHRR…!!!”_

Strade’s attempted threat predictably devolved into little more than incoherent growling, so mad that he could hardly think straight. Momentarily incapable of proper speech, he instead began to utilize his returning strength to struggle more forcefully against the bindings that were currently stopping him from pouncing on top of Y/N and ripping out her pretty little throat. Alas, even his best efforts proved fruitless, managing only to rattle the heavy chains noisily against the metal pole behind him. 

“But we’re gonna have _so much fun together!~”,_ she promised him, watching his brows knit together in agitation and his eyeballs strain as far to one side as they could to glare at her in his peripheral vision. 

"Hmm...Sounds familiar, doesn't it?"

Utterly taken aback and dismayed that she would dare to throw that sentiment back in his face after how many times he had used it himself for the sole purpose of tormenting her, the sound of her sweetly mocking sing-song voice echoed off the walls of his mind over and over until it no longer made sense anymore. He clenched and unclenched his fists to ward off the slow onset of numbness and attempted to calm himself with a few deep, but shaky breaths, thinking hard. If he couldn’t find some way to free himself soon, he would most definitely go crazy.

Well...crazi _er,_ that was.

While Strade continued to fully process the gravity of the situation he had unexpectedly found himself embroiled in, Y/N looked over her shoulder curiously at Ren...but he was nowhere to be found. She guessed that he must have gotten too overwhelmed and ran back upstairs to the safety of his nest of blankets and pillows, understandably not wanting to be found complicit in this blatant act of treason. 

_Good,_ she thought to herself, ruffling the top of Strade’s messy mop of hair affectionately before rising back to her feet. All the better, since she had originally planned on keeping him all to herself for the night, to begin with. She paced back and forth directly in front of her newly-acquired “victim”, fingers toying with something behind her back that he was, as of yet, unable to see.

“It's just you...and me…”, she began, dragging out each syllable like a streamlined blade from its sheath. Weaponizing her words.

At last, she revealed what she had so discreetly kept hidden from his view, forced to bite back a moan at the downright frightened expression frozen onto Strade’s face when his entire body tensed up at the disturbing sight. It was becoming more difficult for him to conceal his true feelings, no matter how hard he tried to seem unaffected by the fact that the submissive little girl living in his house had somehow managed to even the score. Last thing he knew was Y/N wriggling uselessly in his lap on the living room couch with his slimy tongue in her ear, and the next she was hovering overhead with one of his favorite toys in her hand and a pleased-as-punch smirk on her cute little face. One that he only remembered seeing when he glanced in the mirror, no less. 

She teased him maliciously, waving the glinting blade idly back and forth like some kind of deadly metronome before ultimately dealing the finishing blow to his already weakened facade of indifference. 

  
“...and this _knife…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there's a lot of German in this one! I imagine that while Strade is under the influence of heavy drugs or alcohol, he would mostly revert back to speaking his native language and forget that the people around him cannot understand what he's saying. Just my guess.
> 
> German Translation Key
> 
> Sieht lecker aus. - Looks delicious.
> 
> Für mich? - For me?
> 
> Tja? - Well?
> 
> erfrischend - refreshing
> 
> dummes Mädchen - silly girl
> 
> Komm näher. - Come closer.
> 
> Jahrestag - anniversary
> 
> mein haustier - my pet
> 
> schatzi - sweetheart
> 
> liebe - love, dear
> 
> Fütter mich. - Feed me.
> 
> Liebling - darling, favorite
> 
> Du bist so hübsch. - You're so pretty.
> 
> Willst dich fressen! - Want to/Wanna eat you!
> 
> deinem mund - your mouth
> 
> Schätzchen - baby
> 
> so süß - so sweet
> 
> Scheiße - Shit
> 
> Weißbier - white beer (one of the most popular kinds of German beer)
> 
> mein schatz - my treasure, favorite
> 
> Was sind--? - What are--?
> 
> Verdammt noch mal! - Damn it all!/Damn you!
> 
> Du kleine... - you little... (he mad lolz)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strade finds himself trapped and utterly helpless while at the mercy of his former captive. But the kind of "torture" that Y/N has in mind for tonight isn't exactly a page torn from his own book. ;)

Despite only having been awake and fully conscious for a few minutes at the most, Strade already felt like he was suffocating. The wrought iron collar that hung weightily around his neck was much too snug of a fit, his minimal clothing much too warm as it clung to his tan skin that was now breaking out into a cold sweat, soaking through his undershirt. His expansive basement workshop, once considered the place where he usually felt the most at home, now seemed claustrophobically cramped, as if the dingy, water (and blood) stained walls were slowly closing in on him. He would never in a million years admit it to any living soul, but in that moment, with his stiff back jammed up against that metal pole and the lingering high of his own supply of sedatives still clouding his mind, he couldn’t deny that he actually felt somewhat...afraid.

The big, bad wolf had unexpectedly devolved into a frightened rabbit caught in a snare, whereas Red Riding Hood, with a hunter’s weapon in her hand and an innocent smile on her smartass little mouth, had suddenly become the one in the room with the sharpest claws. Strade glowered up at Y/N with his lip curled in disgust, wanting so badly to smash that infuriatingly adorable expression off of her face with something hard and blunt until she was crying for him to _“please stop, I’ll do anything…”_

Hell, _he’d_ do anything for these awful constraints to be loosened, even just a smidge, but she didn’t have to know that. Yet. There was still time for him to take back the reins. He was still the boss. Her master.

“So...you think you got the upper hand here, _ja? HAH! Das ist lustig!”_ , he barked out, along with a short, too-loud laugh that sounded way less confident than he was originally going for. Cringing inwardly at the sound of his own stressed-out voice, he realized he didn’t even believe himself.

“For now, yeah. I _know_ I do.”, she agreed, crawling up between his legs and kneeling on the floor in front of him.

“I mean, you were the one who taught me the importance of never wasting time, to always "seize the day" and just take whatever it is that I desire most…right?”

Grabbing ahold of and stretching out the rounded neckline of his shirt, she pressed the edge of the blade down onto the faded cotton material to tear it down the middle, the very tip just barely grazing his skin from collar to stomach. He sucked in his slight beer belly as the sharp blade descended in a smooth downwards motion, his chest rising and falling rapidly from the close contact of the chilled steel against his bare flesh. Not even bothering to suppress a series of girlish giggles as she pulled the torn remains of his wife-beater from his torso, she tossed the pieces aside, lightly running a finger over the glaze of perspiration on his glistening pecs before trailing down to the drawstring on his sweatpants. Strade reflexively jerked his pelvis away from her reaching hands, not at all comfortable with the way that sharp knife was wandering so closely to his most sensitive bits. 

_“Ach,_ see that’s where you’re wrong, _kleine maus!”,_ he shot back, blinking away a droplet of stinging sweat from one of his eyes. “You seem to be forgetting that I also taught you to never _disobey_ me. So either you let me out of here right now...or you’re gonna be one **_VERY sorry little girl.”_**

The command was low-pitched and menacing, emphasizing the last few words with a guttural growl as he bared his teeth at her in a wide, overly cocky grin. He purposefully fixed his gaze at her eye level, not only because he had been left with precious little room to move his head, but also to stop himself from focusing too intently on the sharp blade that was now slicing through the leg of his pants and sending him further into a heightened state of distress. But Y/N simply ignored these empty threats, alternately using the knife and her bare hands to forcibly strip him down to nothing but his boxer shorts, then teasing him by poking at the little bit of pudge on his tummy that stuck out over the top of the elastic waistband. The way his abdominal muscles visibly clenched when she pushed the blade against them was just so fucking _cute._

With a playful smirk, she shoved the flat of the knife underneath the leg of his shorts. Then she caught a fleeting, yet unmistakable glint of panic in his golden orbs as she briefly turned the blade upwards before abruptly withdrawing. _Interesting._ She supposed he could leave those on...for now.

“Oh, Strade...the only thing I’ll be even remotely sorry about…”, she argued, snuggling herself into his lap and tucking a section of sweat-dampened curls behind his ear. “...is that I didn’t try to do this sooner! I just _looove_ the way you look in chains~…”

Nuzzling her cheek against his sandpapery scruff, she continued to trace the blade across his chest, circling his nipples and applying the ever-so-slightest amount of pressure whenever he dared to get too relaxed. A tiny bead of fresh blood appeared an inch or so beneath his clavicle and she watched, fascinated, as it gradually expanded and dripped down into his thicket of chest hair. 

_“Oops...”,_ she whispered in his ear, leaning closer to touch her lips to his neck above the heavy collar. “I didn’t mean to _hurt_ you.” She had to wonder if he would be as sensitive in that particular spot as she normally tended to be, but she took his light flinch and shudder upon gently nibbling at the area as a probable “yes.”

“Rrrghh... _Du_ _lügst_ _…”,_ Strade muttered under his breath, trying and failing to thrash his shackled legs around on the cement to throw her off balance from her perch on his upper thigh. Closing his eyes, he imagined possessing the ability to hold Y/N at knifepoint with the hilt clutched between his toes until she had no choice but to cut his hands free. That frankly humorous mental image managed to pick up his sour mood at least a little bit, especially when he began to fantasize about all the fun and exciting ways in which he could then proceed to properly discipline such a _naughty_ pet.

_Oh, ja…,_ he mused to himself, struggling to ignore the cool sensation of stainless steel sliding against the side of his face while she covered his protesting mouth with her own. Reluctantly, though fiercely, kissing her back, Strade took temporary solace in her small whimper of pain when he bit down a little too harshly on her bottom lip, tasting her warm blood on his tongue. 

_...Knives would be a mercy._

Without access to the use of his hands, Strade found himself fighting for dominance with the only other available weapons at his disposal. His hot tongue wrestled with hers, sharp teeth scraping the soft appendage and dragging along her jawline as she allowed herself to fall against his tense, sweaty frame. Tilting her head to the side, Y/N swept her hair out of the way to grant him better access to her neck, drawing in a sharp gasp of pleasure when his hungry mouth closed over the middle of her slender throat. She braced herself with one hand on his leg, resting the shaft of the blade clutched in her other within the crevice between his shoulder and the collar; a warning not to go too overboard on the love-bites. Indeed, he worked up and down her succulent flesh with such impeccable skill that she nearly lost control and let the knife slip completely. One might have thought his tongue was exploring other, deeper parts of her instead with the way she was moaning for him. 

Strade, of course, was not stupid. He had figured out pretty early on in the game that her weakness for him was ripe for exploitation. Riling her up into an unbearably wet and needy state meant that she was more likely to let her guard down and leave an opening for him to strike when things got really hot and heavy. However, that didn’t necessarily mean he had to _enjoy_ it. Not after he had been so rudely emasculated and stripped of his clothes as well as his dignity, not to mention tied and leashed like some mistreated junkyard dog. It certainly didn’t matter that he was already starting to get hard from the side of her thigh rubbing up against the button fly of his boxer shorts. No, sir. There was no way in _Hölle_ that he could possibly be getting turned on from playing the role of a reluctant submissive...could he?

“Mmn...just like that…”, Y/N praised him, drawing back and looking him over with gentle approval. Licking the spittle from the corner of his mouth, he eyed the angry, reddening teeth marks on the column of her throat with fervent hostility and she poked the tip of the knife underneath his chin, causing him to strain his head back even further than the shackle was holding him. Strade snarled in response, narrowing his gaze to cold, amber slits as she gave him a playful peck on the tip of his nose. 

“Aww...did anyone ever tell you that you’re just so _cute_ when you’re mad?”, she teased, merely laughing endearingly when he proceeded to spit a string of German curses at her, his face burning a vibrant shade of red.

“ _Sie... können... sich verpissen... sofort._ _”,_ he growled through his teeth and panted between words, so heated that his hair was now matted to his cheeks with sweat. There may as well have been cartoon steam clouds coming out of his ears and she found it hilarious.

“Whatever that means, I think I have a better idea. Watch this!”, she announced excitedly, removing herself from his lap and standing up between his feet. Ignoring his disgruntled mumbling and grumbling, she carefully placed the knife on the floor behind her, stealing a glance at him over her shoulder while her hands slid down her waist to the hem of her oversized t-shirt. She swayed her hips from side to side in tune with the rhythm of some music only she could hear, pulling it up and over her head and briefly displaying the scars on her back before her hair cascaded down between her shoulder-blades once more. 

Her heartbeat picked up as a pleasant warmth began to spread upwards from her chest and into her face, more than a little embarrassed about performing a spontaneous strip tease for him. It was something she had never really engaged in before since any clothing she happened to be wearing would be quickly laid to waste whenever Strade got into one of his “moods.” Even if he instructed her to undress herself, it was always with an overbearing air of impatience. 

Pausing her awkward little dance, she smiled to herself as she tuned into the sound of his breathing, rasping in his throat from the strain he had just been putting on his vocal cords but otherwise eerily silent. Sure enough, when she spun around to toss her discarded t-shirt at his face, she could see that he seemed to be utterly transfixed on her body, his mouth hanging open slightly. 

Murderous psychopath or not, at the end of the day Strade was just your typical red-blooded male, incapable of saying "no" to ogling a nice, ripe pair of tits.

“Oh? See somethin’ you like?”

Her hands traveled over her chest, kneading her breasts together to show them off. Taunting him, mercilessly. She caught his eyes widening considerably before a violent shake of his head as much as the rope on the back of his collar would allow, seemingly snapped him out of a trance.

“That’s not going to work, Y/N. You can’t just... _bribe_ me like that with your...eh...with _those!”,_ he sputtered, clearly trying to hide how flustered she was making him as she eased her flannel sleep shorts over her hips, letting them drop to the cement with a hushed whisper of fabric. Left only in her underwear, she threw him a skeptical look, slowly bending over at the waist to scoop the knife up off of the floor. She could almost hear Strade seething internally, his guts roiling with a deadly concoction of searing anger and lust as she playfully wiggled her ass for him before straightening up and whipping her hair back.

"Are you _suuure_ about that one, Strade?”, she inquired, pretending to casually examine the blade in front of her face, meticulously picking off specks of dust and lint from its otherwise polished surface. When she lowered it back to her side, she was pleased to find him anxiously chewing his lip, as red and flushed as if he had a high fever. He did indeed look sick, but not in a way that any trip to the doctor or spoonful of bitter cold medicine could hope to fix.

_“Fick dich…”_ , he muttered, tone uncharacteristically flat and impassive as his eyes closely followed the knife swinging at her hip with worrying recklessness. 

“What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you there…”, Y/N snickered mockingly, leaning forward and cupping her ear with her free hand for dramatic effect. At the same time, she slipped the end of the knife underneath the waistband of her panties, tugging at them slightly. Just a little flick of her wrist and they would be gone as well. 

“Fuck... _YOU.”,_ he swore, translating the words with more emphasis this time while throwing his weight against his bindings in order to drive home his point. It was true, though. Strade was entirely consumed with the overwhelming need to savagely rail her up against the wall so hard that he turned her internal organs to jelly and made her forget her own name. He needed to fuck her. He wanted to _kill_ her. Maybe not in that exact order, either. Shit, at this point he was so delirious with rage that he didn’t even know anymore.

“Hehe, maybe we’ll get around to that part later…”

Y/N graced him with her best smile; the shy, obedient one he had come to look forward to with every meek utterance of “Yes, sir...” or “...anything for _you,_ Daddy.” He always loved to savor that look of total helplessness on her face, stroking her cheek with the back of his hand before inevitably slamming his cock down her throat or whatever else happened to tickle his fancy at the moment. It was a smile that was eager to please, but now it just made him nauseous.

He swallowed bile as he watched her cut through her last flimsy article of clothing, wincing at the uncomfortable sensation of the restrictive shackle pressing against his adam’s apple. The perspiration that had collected between the metal and his skin was beginning to itch and chafe maddeningly but there was nothing he could do about it. No relief in sight.

“...but only if you’re a good boy…”

Taking a few steps forward, she lowered herself back down to her knees, reminding him of the dangerous implement in her possession by dancing its razor-sharp edge along his shin with a feather-light touch. Strade froze up momentarily, waiting for her to draw blood but she only gazed up at him demurely from underneath her eyelashes, daring him to interject.

“Don’t...don’t you play games with me, _liebling!”_ , he sneered, reverting back to calling her by the familiar pet name without really thinking. 

“If you’re gonna cut me, then have at it! Just know...that as soon as I get out of these.. _.gott verdammt_ chains...I will tear you to _pieces_ with my **_bare hands!!”_**

“Oh yeah? Gonna mess me up real bad, huh?” Y/N giggled, continuing to shamelessly poke the bear against her better judgement. 

_“...Ja. Wenn ich fertig bin, erkennt dich_ _deine verfickten Mutter nicht_ _mehr.”,_ he added, dropping his voice a few octaves in an effort to make himself sound more sinister.

She simply shrugged her shoulders, transferring the knife from his leg to her own instead. His deeply furrowed eyebrows raised in confusion, unable to make sense of this sudden turn of events.

“Don’t worry~...I had something else in mind for tonight.”, she confided, drawing in a slow, controlled breath as she pushed the blade into the meat of her thigh. Moving it in a long, curved line down the middle of her leg, she took care not to cut too deep, not exactly sure if she would be able to stitch herself back up properly. Strade sure as shit wouldn’t be assisting her with that should she release him, she knew. A loud, shuddering exhale escaped her lips at the stinging pain, and she closed her eyes, feeling warm liquid accumulate along the length of the fresh wound and leak down her leg.

_“...W-was...?”_

Strade immediately zeroed in on her bare, bleeding thigh without hesitation, like an agitated bull to a matador’s scarlet _muleta._ He was losing his mind, the heady aroma of blood in the stagnant basement air amplified by his own rapidly intensifying fear and fury.

“ _Aufhören…_ You don’t know what you’re _doing!”_

He sounded so distressed, almost pleading, eyes wild and pupils dilated as she smeared her own spilt blood over her leg. That handprint should have rightfully been his. His fingers began to tingle at the thought of laying into her raw flesh until he was wrist-deep in gore, the sensation swiftly spreading to his neglected nether regions. This was no comfort to Strade, however, only serving to make him feel even worse about his current plight. He had never needed to stick his dick in something _this_ badly, at least not in recent memory...and he fucking _hated_ every second of it. 

Deep down, he didn’t _really_ want her to stop what she was doing. Bearing witness to a victim inflicting harm on themselves was a unique experience that he considered in many ways to be far more intimate and pleasurable than the rough sex that would inevitably follow, especially if the other party ended up enjoying it. But this... He wanted, no _needed,_ this to end ASAP but Y/N simply wasn’t listening to his persistent demands to cease and desist. 

“Actually...I’m pretty sure I do.”

Maintaining steady eye contact, she pulled the knife along her opposite thigh, moaning indulgently this time to rub salt into his deeply wounded pride as the cold steel split apart her flesh. The fact that Strade was so utterly powerless to do anything but watch her put on a show for him only made the situation that much more impossibly erotic. Using her blood like fingerpaints, she drew nonsensical shapes on her legs, rubbing her inner thighs together to try and create some much-needed friction to relieve her swiftly building arousal. The helpless expression of total despair on her former captor’s face while he squirmed and whined like a little kid throwing a tantrum was almost _too_ priceless. 

His was the face of a man who was dying of thirst in the desert. A man who had spotted an oasis across the seemingly endless stretches of sand, only to discover it was nothing but a cruel hallucination. A mirage.

_“Nein..._ _Wie kannst du_ _mir das_ _antun_ _?_ _”,_ Strade lamented, his tone denoting a deep-seated sense of betrayal that made it sound as if his most trusted friend had gone and stabbed him in the back. She brought her bloody fingers to her lips, sampling her own coppery essence for no other purpose except to entice him further. Making him want to sell his very soul for just a taste of her as well. With one cursory downwards glance she could tell how desperate he actually was based on the prominent tent in his boxers, his cock fully erect and visibly twitching with that undeniable need, that _hunger_ to touch and be touched.

“Look how much I’m _bleeding_ for you, Daddy~…”, she mewled, high and breathy as she spread more of the warm, red liquid all over her trembling body. Leaving tacky streaks of blood on the swell of her breasts, her stomach, and even the apple of one cheek before drifting so far south again that Strade began to practically vibrate with an unstable energy that had no safe outlet.

“L-Listen, Y/N--” 

His voice came out as little more than a wheeze, his respiration labored and heavy like he was having an asthma attack. Gone was much of that nasty, accusatory edge, replaced in favor of pure unadulterated lust. He felt like he was bursting into flames, achingly hard and hot and completely paralyzed, at a loss to be able to take care of himself in any way. Never mind power tools and knives.. _._ surely _this_ was the ultimate meaning of torture. A living nightmare that he knew he couldn’t wake up from, no matter how much he twisted and writhed. The solid iron biting harshly into his bruised forearms and ankles felt way too vivid, too _real_ to be anything but the uncomfortable truth. There was no escape.

Strade abruptly found himself choking on his next words, merely gawping in wide-eyed disbelief as Y/N spread her legs invitingly and dipped two fingers in between her velvety pink folds. 

“Hm? Go on, I’m listening!”, she cooed sweetly, forming a V-shape with which to open up her sopping wet cunt like a flower coated in morning dew. The sight of the blood mingling with her own warm slick may have actually caused his brain to temporarily short-circuit. 

When grieving a loss, first comes denial, and next fiery anger. And now Strade knew his last hope of regaining control of this hellish situation was going to involve taking swift action that he rarely ever felt the need to stoop to, being the uncompromising and ruthless, cold-blooded killer that he was. 

And so the bargaining stage began. Oh, how the mighty had fallen.

“Hahhhh...R-right. If you untie me right now, I’ll...ahh...I’ll buy you what...whatever you want! Those snack-cakes you like so much?...No? Well, you’ve been asking for ahhh...new pair of boots, _ja?_ I’ll get the most expensive ones on the market, just for you, _mein schatz!”,_ he rambled on and on, growing increasingly frustrated as he gaped, unblinking and owl-eyed while she wantonly pleasured herself with her own fresh, crimson blood as lubricant. He began to shake so violently that his chains rattled, the tuneless jingling around and above his head driving spikes into his ear canals. Gulping down a mouthful of musty basement air, Strade prepared to begrudgingly set aside his last remaining shreds of dignity. 

“Eh...On second thought, I’ll- I’ll just give you my credit card! I’ll even let you drive my car to the store and back! A-ANYTHING! Just... **_PLEASE!_ ** ... _Lass mich…dich anfassen_ _…”_

Strade’s long-winded babbling had wound down to a broken sort of whimper towards the end, his tongue hanging limply out of his mouth and his jaw grown slack with exhaustion. He tried to allow his tired eyelids to fall closed in order to give himself some sort of reprieve, but he simply couldn’t resist the urge to keep staring as the petite, shy woman who would normally be down on her knees and groveling at his feet, continue to so openly defy him. 

Y/N languidly let her head roll back, balancing precariously on her toes while she traced leisurely circles around her clit with one bloody fingertip, and arching her back into her own touch. Her other hand still held a firm grip on the handle of the knife, caressing her left breast before slashing quickly and cleanly through the soft valley of her cleavage. The hand nestled between her legs seized up as her sharp, impassioned scream tore through the shop, making his head reel and his mouth water. Just when he was afraid she had apparently gone completely deaf to his pathetic begging, she righted herself, offering him a sympathetic smile that he mistakenly took to mean: _Looks like you’ve had enough._

Her lips parted, breathing out a wistful sigh as she ran a hand covered in drying blood through her hair, pushing her bangs back from her forehead and out of her lustfully darkened eyes. As the new laceration on her chest welled up and poured slowly down her stomach in thin rivulets, Strade noted with bitter resentment that a wound administered to such a thin, sensitive patch of skin would surely leave a noticeably gruesome scar, one that would be impossible for him to ignore. The problem with _that_ was... _he_ hadn't given it to her, himself. A deep, possessive growl escaped his anxiety-tightened throat at the thought of having to endure a constant reminder of this... _embarrassment_ every time she so much as wore a low-cut top.

“Ohh...you poor _..._ baby~"

_Silence._ Only a piercing, hateful glare at being addressed in such a debasing manner. The embers of his rage were still smoldering, it seemed.

“Call me that again...”, Strade challenged her, scraping up every last ounce of his dwindling willpower to stay focused on her smug face, her heavy-lidded eyes, or even the wooden countertops behind her back. Anything but the artfully applied streaks of blood adorning her bare flesh or the shameless display of her fingers working their way in and out of her tight, wet--

“I _DARE_ you.”

Shifting his hips on the floor in an attempt to reduce some of the strain in his now uncomfortably tight boxer shorts, his eyes wandered up to the cabinets on the wall above their heads. He quirked an eyebrow in confusion as he noticed one of the doors standing partially ajar, though he could have sworn he had shut both cabinets and drawers he had been shuffling through while searching for the first-aid kit and an ace bandage, respectively.

The aforementioned unruly captive had really done a number on his lower leg before their fateful meeting with a circular saw-blade, and so he had dealt with the resulting dark bruises blossoming on his shin and calf by affixing an ice pack to his skin with the bandage for a couple of hours. He suddenly knew that if he could actually get up and go check on it, the small step-ladder he kept under his workbench would be slightly askew as well. Y/N wouldn’t be able to reach that far back on the shelf without it.

This seemingly inconsequential memory had flipped a light switch in his mind, tamping down the looming waves of panic to make room for a fresh flood of white-hot fury. His nostrils flared as he exhaled slowly through his nose, grinding his teeth together. His lips pulled back in a grimace, forcing a heinous, bitter smile at the realization.

That little...fucking... _ **B** ** **r** at. **_

Perhaps investing in some child-proof locks for those compartments would have been a smart idea, Strade chuckled humorlessly to himself, seeing as how he obviously couldn’t trust his pets to behave like grown adults, after all. _This_ little one, especially. She was just asking to be put in time-out for so long and so brutally she would wish she was never born. It then occurred to him that he no longer harbored the intense desire to simply take her life, because it would be infinitely more gratifying to slowly and painfully edge her towards that terrifying precipice...before tearing the promise of sweet release out from under her at the last minute. Plunging her back into the maddening depths of horror and anguish that only _he_ could take her to, so agonizing she would go insane.

He would fuck her body, sure....but then he would also fuck her _mind,_ twice as hard.

“What’s a matter, Strade? Did I maybe...get you too.. _.excited?”_

With her bloody knees dragging wet, glossy tracks along the cold cement, she crawled towards him on all threes, hastily wiped knife grasped in her left fist. Closer and closer, until she was basically straddling him. Hitching in a shallow breath, he snarled angrily as she took extra care not to make any contact with the raging hard-on in his shorts. Shit, if only he had just one hand free...he could…

Y/N hovered just above his lap, noting with perverse amusement that a small wet spot had appeared at the peak of the sizable tent beneath her. She licked her lips and gingerly slid a hand down his sweaty chest to his groin, leaving faint marks from her own bloody residue. Her body firmly pressed against his torso, a wall of trembling muscle and feverish heat that only intensified when her fingers reached the rock-solid flesh of his fat, throbbing cock. As much as she normally loved the way it felt to hold him, standing proudly at attention and barely contained within her dainty grip, she instead refrained from touching him directly, using her opposite hand to wind her fingers into the roots of his hair to push his head back while still managing to keep her hold on the knife. His eyes were twin pools of molten lava.

_“...Sch-Schlampe…”_

The insulting word came out as little more than a tired rasp, though his lower eyelid did twitch in time with the rapid pulse beating in his temples. She studied his upturned face, whispering his well-loved name over and over as if soothing a frightened animal, and very lightly, _teasingly_ proceeded to swipe the pad of her thumb over the bead of precum seeping through the thin material. Strade actually _whined_ in response, a shuddering, half-broken sound akin to a footbridge protesting under the weight of too many people crossing at once. Y/N took the opportunity to slip the digit into his open mouth and press down on his tongue, forcing him to lick the proof of his own arousal from her thumb. If it weren't for the sharp edge of the blade stinging against his scalp, he would have gnawed that sucker right off at the second knuckle. 

“There you go! ...But I bet you’d rather taste something else, right?...”

The question was posed as a statement. Of course he would, was he really even being given a choice in the matter anymore? She leaned down over him, tenderly stroking his damp hair and twirling the oily strands around her fingers. The knife snuck around to the back of his neck and to his surprise the rope fastening his collar to the pole snapped free, allowing him to turn his head this way and that. He hissed lowly as he worked out the kinks in his stiff neck, only to go completely rigid again at her wickedly sarcastic tone of voice.

“...now wouldn’t you, **_bay-bee?~”_ **

If pure, unfiltered wrath somehow equated to brute strength, Strade would have surely shattered the heavy iron chains binding his arms to that pole in a heartbeat. In fact, he could practically _feel_ her fragile throat already in his clutches, her airways struggling to contract while she gasped for oxygen. While his triumphant laughter echoed and her hearing faded into nothingness. For now however, all he could do was flash her a sickeningly sweet grin, mouth watering behind his clenched teeth at the heady aroma of her blood mixing with his musky sweat. Either a second or an eternity passed before he finally gave her an answer, delivered with all the earnest sincerity of a hand-written love letter. 

_“Scheiße fressen..._ **_Liebling <3”_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> German Translation Key
> 
> Das ist lustig! - That's funny!
> 
> kleine maus - little mouse
> 
> Du lügst. - You're lying.
> 
> Hölle - Hell
> 
> Sie können sich verpissen sofort. - You can fuck right off.
> 
> Fick dich. - Fuck you.
> 
> liebling - darling, favorite
> 
> gott verdammt - god damned
> 
> Wenn ich fertig bin, erkennt dich deine verfickten Mutter nicht mehr. - When I'm done, even your own fucking mother won't recognize you.
> 
> W-was? - W-what?
> 
> Aufhören - Stop it!
> 
> Nein... Wie kannst du mir das antun? - No...How can you do this to me?
> 
> mein schatz - my treasure/favorite
> 
> Lass mich…dich anfassen… - Let me...touch you...
> 
> Sch-Schlampe... - Bi-Bitch...
> 
> Scheiße fressen...Liebling - Eat shit...Darling :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is just a short and sweet chapter that ends with a wee, little surprise. But don't worry, I'm well on my way to finishing those next couple of chapters! I've been working at my *shudder* "actual" job more lately so...thanks for your patience with me<3
> 
> Enjoy ;)

The shallow wounds lining Y/N's legs and chest still shed a lazy trickle of liquid carmine, self-inflicted and superficial. All that blood, so sadly going to waste...and this knowledge cut Strade deeper than even the stolen hunter's knife currently teasing its way up his sensitive inner arm could ever hope to reach. Her blood should have been in his mouth tonight, dripping down his chin and staining his aggressively bared teeth instead of the drab, gray cement beneath his shackled feet. The dark smears drying between her soft breasts and caked onto her thighs resembled some kind of macabre frosting, just waiting to be licked off and savored by a tongue with uncommonly adventurous tastes. He expelled a puff of air as he began digging his nails into his palms to try and stay as focused as possible, but it was…

So. Damn.  **Hard.**

In _ so _ many ways. 

The sudden warmth of her naked flesh against his lips took him by surprise as she assaulted his face with her torso and began to firmly stroke the back of his head at the base of his skull, inadvertently soothing the stiff ache resulting from being restrained against the pole for however long he had been imprisoned down here. It then occurred to Strade that he didn't even know the approximate time, only that it was quickly becoming less important to find out the more he allowed himself to be seduced by lithe fingers slithering under the heavy metal collar to massage the back of his neck...or the coppery tang filling his nostrils and making his head swim. 

He opened his mouth to protest anyway, more of a  _ slave _ to his own lust than any sort of willing participant, but only succeeded in lightly flicking his tongue over her beautifully responsive nipples, earning him a wispy sigh as sweet and alluring as the subtle taste of coagulated gore on her skin. 

"I guess I got a little messy, huh?~...", she cooed playfully, purposefully pitching her voice high and thin in a mockery of innocence. "Why don't you be a good boy...and clean me up?"

“And what if I do, _schätzchen?”,_ Strade purred up at her, drawing back slightly in an effort to make his voice sound less muffled by her tits smothering his face. “What then?”

“Maybe you could be a good  _ girl. _ ..and please let me go?...” 

These words were spoken with that same lilting sing-song he would use whenever feigning kindness to some unsuspecting victim, all phony sincerity and wide puppy-dog eyes, but just under the surface he was about ready to explode.

(... _ so that I can bash your pretty head against the wall while I bend you over and RIP you in half with my--) _

“Ugh, aren’t you precious?”, Y/N giggled brightly, casually maneuvering the knife to rest against the side of his neck by his ear. There was a split-second flash of recognition in his carefully composed expression, betraying a returning fear that even  _ he _ may not have been aware of as he obediently dragged his tongue over the fairly fresh cut in the center of her chest. 

“Asking all politely…”

Teasingly grinding down onto his lap once or twice, she relished his sudden sharp intake of breath at the third time her pussy rubbed against him, dripping on his boxer shorts and prompting his uncomfortably rigid cock to twitch and jump demandingly. He merely grumbled against her breasts, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried in vain to ignore how much he was coming apart inside. Worst of all, he knew that she knew, and it was all becoming too much for him to endure. Not to mention, he now needed to cum so badly that it was as if his entire downstairs set-up was screaming out of pain and frustration. One thing he knew for sure, however. When he finally did, it would be like the second coming of the fucking  _ Messiah... _ all over her traitorous, conniving,  _ adorable _ little face.

And he’d be sure to aim straight for the eyes. That'll teach her.

Strade momentarily lost himself in this comforting fantasy, roughly pressing the tip of his tongue into the knife wound. Suckling on the raw flesh inside, he savored the body heat and fresh blood that he managed to extract as well as her clipped yips and yelps of presumed delight. Surprisingly, she had begun to develop a strange affinity for him violating any orifice in her body that wasn't supposed to be there, which was totally fine with him once he quickly picked up on that fact. She threw her head back and gasped, then lifted his chin up with the flat side of the blade to peer down at his face sandwiched nicely between her cleavage.

“... _ Buuut, _ I don’t think so. I’m not done playing with you just yet,  _ sweety~” _

Golden eyes squinting hard, he huffed with irritation as his lips pulled back from his teeth in a grimace.

“What did I  _ tell _ you about calling me th--”

“Different one.”, she cut him off with a blithe little smirk and shrug of her shoulders. “So! What game should we play next?”, Y/N chirped excitedly, blade lightly tracing his jawline. Strade bit the inside of his cheek, seeming to search calmly for a witty reply. 

But oh, if looks could kill....this would surely be her funeral.

~

_ “I’ll give you some control! What happens next is completely up to you.” ;) _

**SPEISEN** >^o.o^< (Hungry? Head on over to Chapter 4)

**REITEN** (Jump right into Chapter 5)

_(coming soon!)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> German Translation Key
> 
> schätzchen - baby
> 
> speisen - eat/dine
> 
> reiten - horse-riding (ahahahaha i'm awful xD)


End file.
